


what happened in Budapest: a drabble of sorts

by neonheartbeat



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Avengers - Freeform, BAMF Natasha, F/M, Public Nudity, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 17:30:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonheartbeat/pseuds/neonheartbeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contains: naked Clint, screaming Clint, a museum, a gala, a botched assassination, angry gunmen, Clint getting shot in the ass, and a smatter of profanity; not necessarily in that order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what happened in Budapest: a drabble of sorts

It’s almost midnight in the Museum of Fine Arts. The main hall is full of people all dressed to the nines. Clint leans on the bar and says softly, “Widow, you copy?”

His earpiece crackles. “Loud and clear, Hawkeye. I have the target in my sight.”

He sees her across the room, walking idly toward the Spanish ambassador. She’s in a floor-length, gold gown that’s cut low in the front and lower in the back. He has to admit it’s a great view.

“Stop looking,” she snaps through the earpiece, and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says sheepishly.

Clint sees her glide up to the ambassador, and the man’s eyes slide over her like a slug on a vine. He wants to punch the guy in the balls, but refrains. He can hear their conversation dimly through the earpiece.

_“Hola, Embajador. Noche preciosa, ¿no es así?”_

Clint orders a whiskey and downs it in one gulp. The pretty brunette bartender raises and eyebrow and says something flirty but he’s too busy listening to Natasha’s perfect Spanish to pay attention.

_“Soy de la embajada rusa. ¿Puedo hablar con usted en privado?”_

That’s his cue. He tips the bartender and walks to the stairs to the second floor, where he has stashed his bow and arrows-earlier, dressed as a guard. He feels naked without them, too unprotected. Looking both ways to make sure no one sees, Clint grabs the weapons, all in a duffel bag, and heads for the roof of the building opposite.

“Black Widow, I’m heading for the roof,” he says. He knows she hears him, because he can hear her flirting with the ambassador. They’re moving to the stairwell on the north side, where he’ll have a clear shot. It’ll be quick and clean.

He opens the door and sets up. He hears a soft, masculine voice saying “ _bella dama_ ” and tries not to listen as he hears a giggle and then the sound of kissing.

Quickly, Clint swings his scope up and over, peering through. Nat and the ambassador are entwined so tightly that he can’t get a clear shot. “Widow, you’re too close,” he says irritably, before realizing what he’s done.

Shit.

The ambassador looks startled and pulls away, pushing Nat’s hair back from her ear-

Oh, _shit_.

Clint doesn’t even think. He already has an arrow notched, and he fires. Nat is clear, and he has a mission, and he does not miss. He never misses.

The arrow goes clean through the Spanish ambassador and into the wall. The man’s face never changes from its surprised look, and then he falls backward, down the stairwell.

Down to where the party is.

“ _Yebat _!” snaps Nat, and glares at Clint through the shattered window. “Hawkeye, get out of there!”__

__Shit, shit, _shit_._ _

__Clint packs everything in record time and runs for the stairwell. He’s almost to the bottom when a security guard shrieks at him in Hungarian and pulls a gun. He dodges and headbutts the guy. He doesn’t have a weapon. “Fuckin’ security,” he growls, and the guard falls down the stairs._ _

__He keeps running._ _

__Outside, he makes it to the plaza, and gasps for breath. “Widow! Where are you?” he pants into his earpiece._ _

__There’s nothing but heavy breathing on the other end._ _

__Clint turns and looks at the museum just as the doors fly open and Natasha comes running down the steps, barefoot, dress bloody. He barely has time to be relieved before a mass of black-clad security guards follow her out, all shouting and waving various guns._ _

__“Fuckin’ _security_ ,” Clint moans, and Natasha screams through the earpiece, “ _Go!_ ”_ _

__There’s a car waiting for them, but he is not leaving without her._ _

__He runs to the car, opens the door, and waits a total of twenty seconds, which feel like minutes. “Come on!” he shouts._ _

__She trips, falls, and scrambles back up, tearing her dress. He reaches out, grabs her, and pushes her into the car._ _

__A shot rings out, and stabbing pain sears through his lower back. He yelps in pain and surprise, and Natasha yanks him into the car and screams, “Go!” to the driver._ _

__The tires squeal and Clint falls forward into her lap, beading scratching his face. “Ow, ah, Christ, fuck-“_ _

__“Stay _down_ ,” she hisses, and leans down over him, one arm curled around him. The rear window shatters and glass showers both of them.The car turns the corner to the 84, and Natasha lets out a sigh of relief._ _

__“They shot me in the ass,” Clint said, more in disbelief than in pain. “In the ass, Nat. Jesus Christ. Those bastards.”_ _

__“Quit complaining,” she says, but she’s smiling._ _

_________ _

__

__At the hotel, she gives him Percocet, makes him strip, and examines his wound. It’s not deep, but it’s bleeding a lot. She cleans him and makes him lie on the bed on his face, ass in the air, as she bandages his lower back up._ _

__“I look like an idiot,” he complains._ _

__“I’m the only one here,” she says, taping sterile pads on his ass._ _

__“Exactly,” he says, and then wishes he hadn’t. Her hands stop moving for a second and then keep on._ _

__“What’s that mean?” she asks lightly._ _

__“Sorry for shooting that guy and getting you kicked out of the museum,” he says._ _

__She laughs, a rare, real laugh. “You idiot,” she says affectionately. “Roll over.”_ _

__He does and she secures more tape to his ass. She’s still in the gold gown, now ruined. “Nice dress,” he says. “I meant to tell you that before, but, uh, I got distracted.”_ _

__She rolls her eyes. “Thank you,” she says.”I should probably change.”_ _

__“Yeah,” he agrees, and sits up, wincing. “Thanks.”_ _

__Natasha drops the sterile roll on the bed and shrugs, her hands covered in blood. “Don’t mention it,” she says, and walks to the bathroom._ _

__Clint lies back down and tries to figure out how he’s gonna wear clothes. Nat comes out of the shower in a plain black shirt and pants._ _

__There’s a knock on the door, and Nat’s eyes narrow. She pulls out her gun and says, “Well, fuck.”_ _

__The door blows open, and that’s the last thing Clint can remember before he comes to his senses. Instantly, he wishes he was still in an adrenaline haze._ _

__Because he’s running naked through a park, Natasha in front of him carrying the bags._ _

__“ _Fuckin’ Percocet!_ ” he howls, and hears the angry shouting behind them._ _

__“Run!” shrieks Nat._ _


End file.
